Encounterlogs
Elanoras Odd Encounter Sr Mikhael 240615
In a tale set against the backdrop of a tranquil yet sinister penthouse overlooking Haven's Bay, Elanora finds herself entangled in a peculiar and somber mission. As dawn breaks, filling the lavish space with light and shadow, she receives a cryptic message urging her to delve into the mind of Claire Hansen—a young woman ensnared in the throes of an inexplicable psychosis, possibly of supernatural origin. Despite her reservations and evident fatigue, Elanora wearily accepts this enigmatic challenge, propelled less by altruism than by a sense of duty and the faint hope of academic reward.
Venturing into the institute where Claire is held, Elanora confronts the stark reality of her task. Within the stark, padded confines of an asylum cell, she initiates a dream invasion, stepping into a nightmarish mindscape that mirrors Claire's tortured psyche—a decrepit forest besieged by monstrous embodiments of fear and despair. Despite her initial reluctance, Elanora's resolve strengthens, channeling an unexpected power through a soothing lullaby that repels the encroaching darkness. As she summons ethereal light to pierce the void, she offers Claire a glimmer of hope, positioning herself as a guardian in the young woman's nightmarish ordeal. Through this act of unexpected compassion and strength, Elanora not only confronts the supernatural forces at play but also the depths of her own capacity to effect change, however begrudgingly it may be.
(Elanora's odd encounter(SRMikhael):SRMikhael)
[Fri Jun 14 2024]
In a Spacious, Suave Living Space with View of the Bay
This formal living room is spacious, a blend of modern luxury and historic tranquility. Dark wallpaper with swirling silver patterns adorns the walls, adding a touch of sophistication to the space, creating an illusion of expansiveness, serving as a central point in the penthouse, seamlessly connecting the hallways and foyer. Strategically placed indoor plants breathe life into the space, harmonizing with the abstract, refined decor.
Black, hard marble floors stretch elegantly throughout the apartment, lending an airy feel to the residence. The high ceiling, painted in a shadowy darkness, is adorned with clouded figures and warped shades blending seamlessly in a foreboding visual illuminated by a minimalist chandelier with cascading glass orbs that bathe the room in soft, ambient glow.
A glass balcony nestled between broad windows offers a scenic view towards the east, showcasing Haven's Bay framed by hazy blurs of old-growth forest. In the distance, the tempestuous Atlantic Ocean captivates with its restless waves, shifting from stony depths in colder seasons to coastal blues in warmer ones. Despite the open floor plan, the space exudes a sense of elevation, with steps on either side of the connecting hallway adding to its grandeur.
It is before dawn, about 79F(26C) degrees, There is a first quarter moon.
(Your target and their allies have been tasked with helping to cure someone's insanity by delving into their mind with dream invading to solve the issues keeping them from sanity.
)
Early morning, late evening, it is all the same at this hour - barely past the deepest fringes of that all consuming darkness. It is only illuminated shortly after by the inclusion of the sun on the eastern horizon where the sky meets the sea, and a few golden rays bring that faint tinge of blue to the sky in growing, expansive light that begins to wake some of the town, and put the rest to sleep. The bluffs overlooked by the apartment are ever gentle, waves that crash upon them soundless from so far away but a picturesque example of nature's beauty washing over the rocks, the cliffs, the shores. It is a siren's call of its own, beckoning to its depths.
The doom and gloom of the apartment is washed away with it. The dim lighting in the living room clicks shut on automatic demand to let the sun filter - the rolling blinds on some of the windows begin to rise up to the ceiling, coiling onto their own in a mechanical whirr as the quiet din of the penthouse starts to leave the nightly activity of it from cleaning vacuum robots to the one of approaching day. A cracked window filters in the sound of the town, quiet but waking bit by bit. The leaves of every green plant decorating the apartment almost seem to turn towards the light, the activity, towards the windows in their own slow but gradual waking ritual, while all the other grim examples of 'art' seem more muted. The statues in the foyer, the paintings scattered around, they don't seem as alive as they were in the darkness. Not as ominous. The decrepit statue bleeding black blood reveal itself to be inanimate, its hollow eyes ever somber and sorrowful in soot-shade tears muted on its dusty marble. The eyes of other statues and paintings seem to be just that - no longer appearing as if they watch any who deign to pass under their baleful gaze.
Upon the table, aa phone buzzes. Elanora's own. What a common occurance it is, that the buzz joins the waking commotion of the apartment just the same as something that happens so often, now. Tonight, at least, Elanora isn't haunted by knocks, or unwanted visitors. She isn't beckoned by mystery and intrigue, or political invitations. Only that, whether she accepts it or not, is a notification - no doubt lifted to her attention by another member of the hand. If she were to look at it, she'd see the report for another person inducted to the institute for mental ailments. Name, date and place of birth, as well as other information she could peruse at her own discretion. Though, in bolder text, beneath it all is the nature of why she was comitted to the asylum wing. 'Paranoid schizophrenia, extremely disorganized or unusual motor behavior'. There is more, surely, waiting to be unearthed, but another line, classified in red in another box upon her phone is more - 'Possible Supernatural Causes'. Yet, it is just that and simply that.
Whether Elanora takes up this task is up to her and only her. There is no pressure, no demand or lingering threat of the world's end resting on her shoulders unless she conforms to some wicked ritual. The way it appears, it is merely that one of the Institute staff in charge of taking care of the Asylum subjects, someone she may or may not recognize, another woman - stately, who talks little, was confounded with the current situation and prolonged state of their patient lead them to seek outside assistance from various other outside sources out of the goodwill of her heart.
Elanora sighs as she picks up her phone. Her topaz eyes glance around at the room which had been left in disarray with blood appparently everywhere. Her lashes fall over her eyes as worry and duty war within her but in the end duty wins and she sighs as she reads over the text again. "Urg... This better not take very long." She sighs as she runs her hand down her dress, her eyes flicking to the couch again. There are slight lines underneath her eyes, signs of her worry as she grabs her phone and texts back, "What do you need?" And waits for the reply as she leans against one of the clean walls that weren't splattered with blood. Something that happened here obviously, something that deeply upset the topaz eyed woman as she tapped her talons against her arms waiting for a reply.
The answer comes only a second later, no delay whatsoever as Elanora's phone beeps, the buzz bringing light on the screen illuminates her face. The filtering rays of light that seeps into the room glitter across the vicious spread of blood acros the living space. On the black marble floors, on the darkly colored sofa, the coffee table - it all seems to blend in to the waking house's calm aura with the ruinous blend of a terrifying night. "Dream invade." The text reads simply. It is beckoning Elanora to the institute, no more details necessary really, what with the information laid out in her hands. Claire Hansen, the name of a young college student, part of Elanora's own sorority, in fact, if anyone even cares for such things anymore in this day and age. She was admitted weeks ago for auditory hallucinations at first, which later blossomed into paranoia and eventually total psychosis. The nature of it is elusive, maybe even too sudden, and ever since she's been in custody of the Institute to help her out of this mess, to no avail, hence the current predicament. That appears to be all on her phone, now - and the right to act is once more upon Elanora.
She stares at the phone even as she yawns showing off her longer than usual canines. She was tired all the time for some reason recently, the fatigue dragging at her. "Fuck why can't we just throw some olanzapine at the psychotic?" She grumbles as she makes for the door. Given how close the institute was, within a quarter of an hour the blood red haired woman was walking into the institute and had found the room that housed her target. "You've got me for an hour." She grumbles as she enters the door, "Then I'm out of here. People become psychotic all the time.. Why on earth do we care about saving this one's mind?" Elanora's voice was as grumpy as anyone would have ever heard her.
The streets are cold. As cold as a morning summer, anyway, which is to say not very much. Elanora's heels click and clack acrosss the pavement on her way to the instute while the lights slowly dim and shut in her wake as more and more of sunlight filters in from the eastern horizon to replace what is artificial. A few people are out and about, if that, heading to their cars for their daily commute. She passes through them all while she bounds down towards the Warden's Way, heads through the far more empty reception of the Institute now, with all the campus students still long asleep. The corridors are empty - no one, not even educators occupy this place at this time of the day. Bounding from the far western walkway up north, past the pool with the statue of a mermaid, she'd find her location in a place that is comparatively far more alive.
The clinic section is a bustle of activity. Some hurt, some ailed in other ways, the late-night crew tending to any that require it. Yet, she find no obstruction through the winding corridors that lead further in to the asylum wing, and there she is - the clinic staff, Penelope, that had sent the notice across town. A flash of relief floods her features - but it is short-lived in favor of Elanora's words. "Well, miss, good evening to you too.." She bedgrugingly keeps an attitude of jaded amicability, before offering a sigh and looking through the gap of a window inside the cell that they're right beside. Inside the cushioned, white room - there is only a woman who sits with her legs cross underneath her, frayed brown hair, brown eyes marked in black, sleepless circles, in her lonesome with her head held low, unaware and practically catatonic. "To.. To help?" Elanora's contact would inform with a raised brow. "It is what we do, here.."
Topaz eyes stare over at Penelope and look exceedingly unimpressed. "I don't see how dream invading is going to help but alrightttt. This better increase my GPA." She tells the other woman as she studies the girl infront of her, "This is what happens when people smoke too much cannibis when they're too young isn't it?" She snorts softly at her own words, "What's wrong with using some good old antipsychotics. Alright.... Where do I go? I get to sleep while I do this right??" Elanora still looks exceedingly unimpressed. Mayhaps helping people wasn't truelyyyy her calling.
"You'll figure it out, the nightmare is the bridge between this world and the dreams." Penelope relays to Elanora - but that is it. The doors, as soon as she walk inside, are closed behind her to leave Elanora and Claire alone in the padded asylum cell with only each other for company. The suffocating white is overbearing, spreading on all sides as if to suffocate all sense and reason. A type of solitary confinement that would turn anyone sane into an addled catatonic. But, here she is, effectively stuck to do what she has to do, to presumably be let out. "I will wait right out here until you're done." The woman calls from behind the small gape of window, and if Elanora were to look, she'd see that they're not holding a clipboard to take notes on. Maybe the notion isn't /just/ to help, after all, but to document and catalogue the event.
In the cell, in front of Elanora, that brunette sits still like a corpse. Bound hands and feet, her arms are locked behind her back with her pure white, strapped attire - In her state of illusion, she even drools a bit at the corner of her mouth without breaking sight of the floor at all. A nutjob, too far gone.
Elanora looks exceedingly more and more unimpressed at the fact that she was going to be locked in this room with.... Claire or whatever her name was. Her lips twist into a frown as she sits down against one of the padded walls. They weren't actually padded THAT comfortably. Just enough so one couldn't injure themselves too hard by banging their head into her. Her head turns from side to side cracking her neck and she sighs, "Whelp here goes nothing..." She mutters as she lets herself sink into her own shadow. They had better given the woman mandrake tea was the last thought she had before she walked around the other woman within the nightmare. Here goes nothing.... She takes a big breath and tries to drag the other woman's conciousness into a dream.
In the nightmare, the padded cell is.. strange. It isn't merely the distraught white - no, that is replaced entirely. Endless black now fills this void of space, extends far into the unseen expanse of nothing. Filled with grim shapes in the distance, the collective conscious of every insane asylum victim seems to be collected and contained in this mere room - or even other rooms, too. Only a white door at her back signifies the exist for her, but otherwise? Just one, lone figure. Sitting in her deranged stillness, forced to hug herself.
There is no resistance when Elanora enters into Claire's mind. It is as if another world opens up, strange, warped - it fills the void around her with color, shapes and abstract things - and it bares openly what the poor girl goes through. All around within the shadowy contours of their new location, which appears to be a decrepit forest, there are looming creatures of all shapes and sizes that threaten the sanctity of a resolute mind. Bared oepn to Elanora's sights, they all weigh upon the girl in front of her in the small patch of grass she's curled up in, crying and sobbing endlessly while tormented with the demeaning whispers that assault her from any and all sides, of claws that rake down on her skin, draw bloodless lines to hurt and maim. An endless cycle of insulting torment, and she's crushed under the weight of it all.
In the nightmare, the padded cell is.. strange. It isn't merely the distraught white - no, that is replaced entirely. Endless black now fills this void of space, extends far into the unseen expanse of nothing. Filled with grim shapes in the distance, the collective conscious of every insane asylum victim seems to be collected and contained in this mere room - or even other rooms, too. Only a white door at her back signifies the exist for her, but otherwise? Just one, lone figure. Sitting in her deranged stillness, forced to hug herself.
There is no resistance when Elanora enters into Claire's mind. It is as if another world opens up, strange, warped - it fills the void around her with color, shapes and abstract things - and it bares openly what the poor girl goes through. All around within the shadowy contours of their new location, which appears to be a decrepit forest, there are looming creatures of all shapes and sizes that threaten the sanctity of a resolute mind. Bared oepn to Elanora's sights, they all weigh upon the girl in front of her in the small patch of grass she's curled up in, crying and sobbing endlessly while tormented with the demeaning whispers that assault her from any and all sides, of claws that rake down on her skin, draw bloodless lines to hurt and maim. An endless cycle of insulting torment, and she's crushed under the weight of it all.
"Urg." That word about sums up Elanora's enthusiasm to be there and tackle this endless nightmare of monsters and creatures. Topaz eyes stare at the girl crying infront of her and she sighs as she takes a seat down next to the other girl. She doesn't say anything at first, simply starts to sing, a soft calming song that drifts through the forest, "You are my sunshine.... My only sunshine.... You make me happy... When skies are grey.... You'll never know dear... How much I love you.... Please don't take my sunshine away..." Her eyes glance at the girl as she sings, going through verse after verse of the gentle, calming song that repeats itself over and over again.
The song is soothing, but more than that, Elanora would find that the song has more power here than anywhere else. In this shadowy forest of a meadow, in her target's dreams - she'd find a well of strength growing from within. Boundless, only limited by her imagination in the spread of her willpower that would no doubt dominate the expanse if she would only reach for it. It fuels her song, her voice. Every note recoil a monster, and another, until they all watch from several paces away, snarling and growling, forming what is essentially a perimeter of warped, broken figures and shadows, of all sorts of monsters in decrepit forms and bulbous shapes. Dark tendril wither away and wave underneath them, seeking any opportunity to return growling their whispered nonsense, haunt the poor girl driven catatonic.
It is the weight of the Supernatural, the undoing of the veil. Maybe she fell in with the wrong crowd, maybe it was her own misfortune, but if it wasn't before, it is clear now that her psychosis is a break, a crack in the understanding of normalcy, and so are her nightmares. She doesn't say a thing while she sobs brokenly, crawls and curls in on herself again while clutching at Elanora's legs. Here, even her restrictive attire is nonexitent, no binds to keep her still and keep her from harming herself - which, evidently, she may have tried to do anyway with how frayed her curls are on her skull, nearly torn with the aggression of what she's endured. In that moment, Elanora is a ray of light, of hope.
As the last strains of her song fades into the 10th verse which she doesn't really remember the lyrics of she can feel that power inside of her and calls forth rays of sunshine to shine down on her and the girl sobbing at her feet. "There there..." She says soothingly, "I'm your faerie god mother Claire. Just because there's bad monsters in the world... Doesn't mean there are good to balance the evil... Come on it's time to go home so you can find the good things in life..... " Elanora sits down next to the other woman and imagines herself in a dress made of flowers that spill into long trails onto the ground.
Venturing into the institute where Claire is held, Elanora confronts the stark reality of her task. Within the stark, padded confines of an asylum cell, she initiates a dream invasion, stepping into a nightmarish mindscape that mirrors Claire's tortured psyche—a decrepit forest besieged by monstrous embodiments of fear and despair. Despite her initial reluctance, Elanora's resolve strengthens, channeling an unexpected power through a soothing lullaby that repels the encroaching darkness. As she summons ethereal light to pierce the void, she offers Claire a glimmer of hope, positioning herself as a guardian in the young woman's nightmarish ordeal. Through this act of unexpected compassion and strength, Elanora not only confronts the supernatural forces at play but also the depths of her own capacity to effect change, however begrudgingly it may be.
(Elanora's odd encounter(SRMikhael):SRMikhael)
[Fri Jun 14 2024]
In a Spacious, Suave Living Space with View of the Bay
This formal living room is spacious, a blend of modern luxury and historic tranquility. Dark wallpaper with swirling silver patterns adorns the walls, adding a touch of sophistication to the space, creating an illusion of expansiveness, serving as a central point in the penthouse, seamlessly connecting the hallways and foyer. Strategically placed indoor plants breathe life into the space, harmonizing with the abstract, refined decor.
Black, hard marble floors stretch elegantly throughout the apartment, lending an airy feel to the residence. The high ceiling, painted in a shadowy darkness, is adorned with clouded figures and warped shades blending seamlessly in a foreboding visual illuminated by a minimalist chandelier with cascading glass orbs that bathe the room in soft, ambient glow.
A glass balcony nestled between broad windows offers a scenic view towards the east, showcasing Haven's Bay framed by hazy blurs of old-growth forest. In the distance, the tempestuous Atlantic Ocean captivates with its restless waves, shifting from stony depths in colder seasons to coastal blues in warmer ones. Despite the open floor plan, the space exudes a sense of elevation, with steps on either side of the connecting hallway adding to its grandeur.
It is before dawn, about 79F(26C) degrees, There is a first quarter moon.
(Your target and their allies have been tasked with helping to cure someone's insanity by delving into their mind with dream invading to solve the issues keeping them from sanity.
)
Early morning, late evening, it is all the same at this hour - barely past the deepest fringes of that all consuming darkness. It is only illuminated shortly after by the inclusion of the sun on the eastern horizon where the sky meets the sea, and a few golden rays bring that faint tinge of blue to the sky in growing, expansive light that begins to wake some of the town, and put the rest to sleep. The bluffs overlooked by the apartment are ever gentle, waves that crash upon them soundless from so far away but a picturesque example of nature's beauty washing over the rocks, the cliffs, the shores. It is a siren's call of its own, beckoning to its depths.
The doom and gloom of the apartment is washed away with it. The dim lighting in the living room clicks shut on automatic demand to let the sun filter - the rolling blinds on some of the windows begin to rise up to the ceiling, coiling onto their own in a mechanical whirr as the quiet din of the penthouse starts to leave the nightly activity of it from cleaning vacuum robots to the one of approaching day. A cracked window filters in the sound of the town, quiet but waking bit by bit. The leaves of every green plant decorating the apartment almost seem to turn towards the light, the activity, towards the windows in their own slow but gradual waking ritual, while all the other grim examples of 'art' seem more muted. The statues in the foyer, the paintings scattered around, they don't seem as alive as they were in the darkness. Not as ominous. The decrepit statue bleeding black blood reveal itself to be inanimate, its hollow eyes ever somber and sorrowful in soot-shade tears muted on its dusty marble. The eyes of other statues and paintings seem to be just that - no longer appearing as if they watch any who deign to pass under their baleful gaze.
Upon the table, aa phone buzzes. Elanora's own. What a common occurance it is, that the buzz joins the waking commotion of the apartment just the same as something that happens so often, now. Tonight, at least, Elanora isn't haunted by knocks, or unwanted visitors. She isn't beckoned by mystery and intrigue, or political invitations. Only that, whether she accepts it or not, is a notification - no doubt lifted to her attention by another member of the hand. If she were to look at it, she'd see the report for another person inducted to the institute for mental ailments. Name, date and place of birth, as well as other information she could peruse at her own discretion. Though, in bolder text, beneath it all is the nature of why she was comitted to the asylum wing. 'Paranoid schizophrenia, extremely disorganized or unusual motor behavior'. There is more, surely, waiting to be unearthed, but another line, classified in red in another box upon her phone is more - 'Possible Supernatural Causes'. Yet, it is just that and simply that.
Whether Elanora takes up this task is up to her and only her. There is no pressure, no demand or lingering threat of the world's end resting on her shoulders unless she conforms to some wicked ritual. The way it appears, it is merely that one of the Institute staff in charge of taking care of the Asylum subjects, someone she may or may not recognize, another woman - stately, who talks little, was confounded with the current situation and prolonged state of their patient lead them to seek outside assistance from various other outside sources out of the goodwill of her heart.
Elanora sighs as she picks up her phone. Her topaz eyes glance around at the room which had been left in disarray with blood appparently everywhere. Her lashes fall over her eyes as worry and duty war within her but in the end duty wins and she sighs as she reads over the text again. "Urg... This better not take very long." She sighs as she runs her hand down her dress, her eyes flicking to the couch again. There are slight lines underneath her eyes, signs of her worry as she grabs her phone and texts back, "What do you need?" And waits for the reply as she leans against one of the clean walls that weren't splattered with blood. Something that happened here obviously, something that deeply upset the topaz eyed woman as she tapped her talons against her arms waiting for a reply.
The answer comes only a second later, no delay whatsoever as Elanora's phone beeps, the buzz bringing light on the screen illuminates her face. The filtering rays of light that seeps into the room glitter across the vicious spread of blood acros the living space. On the black marble floors, on the darkly colored sofa, the coffee table - it all seems to blend in to the waking house's calm aura with the ruinous blend of a terrifying night. "Dream invade." The text reads simply. It is beckoning Elanora to the institute, no more details necessary really, what with the information laid out in her hands. Claire Hansen, the name of a young college student, part of Elanora's own sorority, in fact, if anyone even cares for such things anymore in this day and age. She was admitted weeks ago for auditory hallucinations at first, which later blossomed into paranoia and eventually total psychosis. The nature of it is elusive, maybe even too sudden, and ever since she's been in custody of the Institute to help her out of this mess, to no avail, hence the current predicament. That appears to be all on her phone, now - and the right to act is once more upon Elanora.
She stares at the phone even as she yawns showing off her longer than usual canines. She was tired all the time for some reason recently, the fatigue dragging at her. "Fuck why can't we just throw some olanzapine at the psychotic?" She grumbles as she makes for the door. Given how close the institute was, within a quarter of an hour the blood red haired woman was walking into the institute and had found the room that housed her target. "You've got me for an hour." She grumbles as she enters the door, "Then I'm out of here. People become psychotic all the time.. Why on earth do we care about saving this one's mind?" Elanora's voice was as grumpy as anyone would have ever heard her.
The streets are cold. As cold as a morning summer, anyway, which is to say not very much. Elanora's heels click and clack acrosss the pavement on her way to the instute while the lights slowly dim and shut in her wake as more and more of sunlight filters in from the eastern horizon to replace what is artificial. A few people are out and about, if that, heading to their cars for their daily commute. She passes through them all while she bounds down towards the Warden's Way, heads through the far more empty reception of the Institute now, with all the campus students still long asleep. The corridors are empty - no one, not even educators occupy this place at this time of the day. Bounding from the far western walkway up north, past the pool with the statue of a mermaid, she'd find her location in a place that is comparatively far more alive.
The clinic section is a bustle of activity. Some hurt, some ailed in other ways, the late-night crew tending to any that require it. Yet, she find no obstruction through the winding corridors that lead further in to the asylum wing, and there she is - the clinic staff, Penelope, that had sent the notice across town. A flash of relief floods her features - but it is short-lived in favor of Elanora's words. "Well, miss, good evening to you too.." She bedgrugingly keeps an attitude of jaded amicability, before offering a sigh and looking through the gap of a window inside the cell that they're right beside. Inside the cushioned, white room - there is only a woman who sits with her legs cross underneath her, frayed brown hair, brown eyes marked in black, sleepless circles, in her lonesome with her head held low, unaware and practically catatonic. "To.. To help?" Elanora's contact would inform with a raised brow. "It is what we do, here.."
Topaz eyes stare over at Penelope and look exceedingly unimpressed. "I don't see how dream invading is going to help but alrightttt. This better increase my GPA." She tells the other woman as she studies the girl infront of her, "This is what happens when people smoke too much cannibis when they're too young isn't it?" She snorts softly at her own words, "What's wrong with using some good old antipsychotics. Alright.... Where do I go? I get to sleep while I do this right??" Elanora still looks exceedingly unimpressed. Mayhaps helping people wasn't truelyyyy her calling.
"You'll figure it out, the nightmare is the bridge between this world and the dreams." Penelope relays to Elanora - but that is it. The doors, as soon as she walk inside, are closed behind her to leave Elanora and Claire alone in the padded asylum cell with only each other for company. The suffocating white is overbearing, spreading on all sides as if to suffocate all sense and reason. A type of solitary confinement that would turn anyone sane into an addled catatonic. But, here she is, effectively stuck to do what she has to do, to presumably be let out. "I will wait right out here until you're done." The woman calls from behind the small gape of window, and if Elanora were to look, she'd see that they're not holding a clipboard to take notes on. Maybe the notion isn't /just/ to help, after all, but to document and catalogue the event.
In the cell, in front of Elanora, that brunette sits still like a corpse. Bound hands and feet, her arms are locked behind her back with her pure white, strapped attire - In her state of illusion, she even drools a bit at the corner of her mouth without breaking sight of the floor at all. A nutjob, too far gone.
Elanora looks exceedingly more and more unimpressed at the fact that she was going to be locked in this room with.... Claire or whatever her name was. Her lips twist into a frown as she sits down against one of the padded walls. They weren't actually padded THAT comfortably. Just enough so one couldn't injure themselves too hard by banging their head into her. Her head turns from side to side cracking her neck and she sighs, "Whelp here goes nothing..." She mutters as she lets herself sink into her own shadow. They had better given the woman mandrake tea was the last thought she had before she walked around the other woman within the nightmare. Here goes nothing.... She takes a big breath and tries to drag the other woman's conciousness into a dream.
In the nightmare, the padded cell is.. strange. It isn't merely the distraught white - no, that is replaced entirely. Endless black now fills this void of space, extends far into the unseen expanse of nothing. Filled with grim shapes in the distance, the collective conscious of every insane asylum victim seems to be collected and contained in this mere room - or even other rooms, too. Only a white door at her back signifies the exist for her, but otherwise? Just one, lone figure. Sitting in her deranged stillness, forced to hug herself.
There is no resistance when Elanora enters into Claire's mind. It is as if another world opens up, strange, warped - it fills the void around her with color, shapes and abstract things - and it bares openly what the poor girl goes through. All around within the shadowy contours of their new location, which appears to be a decrepit forest, there are looming creatures of all shapes and sizes that threaten the sanctity of a resolute mind. Bared oepn to Elanora's sights, they all weigh upon the girl in front of her in the small patch of grass she's curled up in, crying and sobbing endlessly while tormented with the demeaning whispers that assault her from any and all sides, of claws that rake down on her skin, draw bloodless lines to hurt and maim. An endless cycle of insulting torment, and she's crushed under the weight of it all.
In the nightmare, the padded cell is.. strange. It isn't merely the distraught white - no, that is replaced entirely. Endless black now fills this void of space, extends far into the unseen expanse of nothing. Filled with grim shapes in the distance, the collective conscious of every insane asylum victim seems to be collected and contained in this mere room - or even other rooms, too. Only a white door at her back signifies the exist for her, but otherwise? Just one, lone figure. Sitting in her deranged stillness, forced to hug herself.
There is no resistance when Elanora enters into Claire's mind. It is as if another world opens up, strange, warped - it fills the void around her with color, shapes and abstract things - and it bares openly what the poor girl goes through. All around within the shadowy contours of their new location, which appears to be a decrepit forest, there are looming creatures of all shapes and sizes that threaten the sanctity of a resolute mind. Bared oepn to Elanora's sights, they all weigh upon the girl in front of her in the small patch of grass she's curled up in, crying and sobbing endlessly while tormented with the demeaning whispers that assault her from any and all sides, of claws that rake down on her skin, draw bloodless lines to hurt and maim. An endless cycle of insulting torment, and she's crushed under the weight of it all.
"Urg." That word about sums up Elanora's enthusiasm to be there and tackle this endless nightmare of monsters and creatures. Topaz eyes stare at the girl crying infront of her and she sighs as she takes a seat down next to the other girl. She doesn't say anything at first, simply starts to sing, a soft calming song that drifts through the forest, "You are my sunshine.... My only sunshine.... You make me happy... When skies are grey.... You'll never know dear... How much I love you.... Please don't take my sunshine away..." Her eyes glance at the girl as she sings, going through verse after verse of the gentle, calming song that repeats itself over and over again.
The song is soothing, but more than that, Elanora would find that the song has more power here than anywhere else. In this shadowy forest of a meadow, in her target's dreams - she'd find a well of strength growing from within. Boundless, only limited by her imagination in the spread of her willpower that would no doubt dominate the expanse if she would only reach for it. It fuels her song, her voice. Every note recoil a monster, and another, until they all watch from several paces away, snarling and growling, forming what is essentially a perimeter of warped, broken figures and shadows, of all sorts of monsters in decrepit forms and bulbous shapes. Dark tendril wither away and wave underneath them, seeking any opportunity to return growling their whispered nonsense, haunt the poor girl driven catatonic.
It is the weight of the Supernatural, the undoing of the veil. Maybe she fell in with the wrong crowd, maybe it was her own misfortune, but if it wasn't before, it is clear now that her psychosis is a break, a crack in the understanding of normalcy, and so are her nightmares. She doesn't say a thing while she sobs brokenly, crawls and curls in on herself again while clutching at Elanora's legs. Here, even her restrictive attire is nonexitent, no binds to keep her still and keep her from harming herself - which, evidently, she may have tried to do anyway with how frayed her curls are on her skull, nearly torn with the aggression of what she's endured. In that moment, Elanora is a ray of light, of hope.
As the last strains of her song fades into the 10th verse which she doesn't really remember the lyrics of she can feel that power inside of her and calls forth rays of sunshine to shine down on her and the girl sobbing at her feet. "There there..." She says soothingly, "I'm your faerie god mother Claire. Just because there's bad monsters in the world... Doesn't mean there are good to balance the evil... Come on it's time to go home so you can find the good things in life..... " Elanora sits down next to the other woman and imagines herself in a dress made of flowers that spill into long trails onto the ground.